


Playing With Fire

by scandalsavage



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: ...Kinda, Alignment Shift, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cock Rings, Daddy Kink, Double Penetration, Dubious Consent, Jason is Roman's heir, M/M, Restraints, Shower Sex, Voyeurism, dick is slade's apprentice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-03 22:01:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20460173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scandalsavage/pseuds/scandalsavage
Summary: Roman sends Jason to learn how to fight from two of the best fighters in the world. Jason gets a little more than Roman pays for and naively doesn't expect it to ever come to light.Several years later, Roman has a pest problem and the best chance of eliminating that problem is the best killers in the world.[The weird formatting errors that happened when originally posted have been corrected]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kuro49](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/gifts).

> This _really_ got away from me. It ended up much longer and very different than originally expected. 
> 
> Hope you still like it.
> 
> (If I missed any tags, let me know. It's late and I'm tired.)

_Jason’s shoulders hit the mats. Again._

_“Again,” a rough voice orders from the sidelines._

_As soon as Renegade crawls off him, grinning like the asshole he is, Jason throws an irritated sneer at the older mercenary lounging against the pile of unused cushioned flooring. The old man’s single eye is fixed on his fingernails in bored disinterest. _

_“A little actual instruction might be helpful,” Jason bites in his direction, slapping away Renegade’s outstretched hand and rising on his own. “You’re being paid to teach me, and you haven’t done shit the whole time I’ve been here.” _

_As far as Jason is concerned, Deathstroke muttering at them to reset and go again isn’t worth the hundreds of thousands Roman is paying him. _

_“Think of the first week as placement testing,” the merc says, finally looking up from whatever he found so fascinating about his cuticles. “You’re doing much better than I expected from a bratty mafia princess.”_

_Renegade chuckles next to him and Jason feels anger bubble in his gut. Roman may dote on him publicly but he’s worked his way up the ranks, just like everyone else._

_“It’s not like that and you know it,” he snaps. _

_“Sorry, you’re right,” Deathstroke says merrily, “We’re all friends here. No need to pretend. I should have said a spoiled mob **wife**.”_

_Heat flushes through him so fast he feels light-headed. It’s only about 10% anger and the rest is humiliation. He can feel how red his ears and cheeks are. Jason does not appreciate the pointed joke, regardless of the accuracy of the implication._

_“Fuck you.”_

_The mercenary shrugs. “If you think that’ll help.”_

_Scrunching his nose in distaste, Jason rolls his eyes and turns to Renegade to square back up for the next round._

_The younger for-hire killer is ridiculously attractive. Slim face, soft, smooth skin several shades darker than Jason’s own, dimples and jet-black hair that flops over deep blue eyes you could drown in. _

_Deep blue eyes currently narrowed in… jealousy? at his ‘mentor’._

_Jason rolls his eyes again. “Hypocrite,” he mutters, just loud enough to be sure they heard him. _

_Deathstroke snorts and repeats, “Again.”_

_Renegade kicks his ass for the next three hours. But in Jason’s defense, it takes him a couple minutes longer by the time the white-haired bastard tells them to hit the showers. Considering both the other two have made career out of murdering high-value and highly dangerous targets, Jason is going to call that a win for now._

_The hot water feels amazing, washing away the sweat, loosening his muscles. He’s so relaxed, half asleep on his feet, it doesn’t immediately register when strong hands start to slide up and down the slick skin of his back, pausing the gentle caress to knead firmly at hard, knotted muscle._

_“Mmmmm,” he hums, lost to the pleasant sensations, leaning his forehead against the tile pillar in front of him. _

_It’s not until the hands slip around him, until solid arms bracket him in and a long, lean body presses up against him, that his brain catches up. _

_Just in time to gasp as sure fingers thumb at his nipples. _

_Jason’s hips press back into his companion without his permission. A moan falls out of him at the insistent press of a thick, hard cock rubbing between his cheeks._

_There’s a soft chuckle in his ear before hot lips burn kisses onto his shoulders and neck. One hand meanders down to settle over his abs and pull him closer. _

_He knows who it is. He’s only been here a week, but they haven’t been able to keep their hands off each other practically since he arrived. _

_“I want you, little one,” Renegade, whose real name he still doesn’t know, purrs into his ear, lips brushing lightly against the shell before nipping at the lobe. Usually Jason is quick to point out that the mercenary is only a couple inches taller than him. But this time he doesn’t even frown at the endearment. “All of you. Can I have you?”_

_Somehow the words are both the sweetest, most sincere thing to ever grace his hearing, and the filthiest words ever uttered in his presence (despite all the dark, dirty things Roman whispers to him in the night)._

_Maybe it’s the asking, instead of expecting._

_“You fucking better,” Jason moans, leaning back into the warm, wet skin, “I don’t like teases.”_

_Renegade snorts and drags his teeth down Jason’s neck before muttering, “Liar.”_

_Roman was his first and only before Jason came here, and Jason has never really wanted it any other way. He had never even really looked at anyone else. And not just because anyone he looked at was likely to end up at the bottom of the bay and Jason was likely to end up swaying over the drain in the basement with Roman redefining his idea of pain _and _pleasure (again). No, he and Roman just… worked. Jason liked the roughness, enjoyed a little pain. Liked the way Roman tossed him around and held him down. The way Roman would come into his room and do whatever he wanted whether Jason was awake or not._

_It had never crossed his mind that sex could be… soft. That gentle hands with light caresses could be so exhilarating. That lips were as good or better than teeth at getting him trembling with arousal._

_Not until Renegade._

_Jason is there for three months. He doesn’t need to be a world class killer. He just needs to be able to hold his own (he has already been kidnapped twice by the fucking Falcones). He just needs to be useful. Days pass in training, nights pass in fucking. Somewhere along the way, Jason realizes he’s trying to drag things out; purposefully failing at things he has already mastered. Deathstroke is no fool. He notices, implements harsher discipline for failure until it’s no longer worth the pain. _

_Then his time is up. He’s learned what he needed. It’s time to go home. Back to Gotham. Back to the False Facers. Back to Roman. _  
  


* * *

“Don’t forget about the meeting tonight,” Roman says, tone remarkably conversational considering the way Jason bounces up and down in his lap.

The crime boss’s hands grip his thighs, roughly kneading at the muscles, eyes trained on where his cock disappears inside Jason.

Meanwhile, Jason’s hands are secured behind him, restrained tightly in some specialty titanium handcuffs. His own eyes are squeezed shut in concentration as he rides Roman as hard and fast as he possibly can.

It’s probably about as gentle as they ever get. Even when Roman grabs hold of his hips and takes control of the pace, thrusting up into him hard, ruthlessly chasing his release.

When Jason just groans, the older man slaps him none too gently across the face, snapping him out of it. He knows from past experience that there is a red handprint under the stinging.

“I won’t,” Jason gasps as Roman hits his prostate and pointedly stabs at it over and over again, “I don’t know why you’re bothering, though. This will be like the sixth assassin we’ve hired.”

Roman surges up, uses the grip on Jason’s hips to flip their positions, slamming Jason’s back into the mattress. Before he can even take a breath, a strong hand closes over his throat and clamps down cutting off his oxygen.

All without so much as a hitch in the crime lord’s pacing. 

“We’re bothering because it’s important,” Roman snarls, his hips hammer into Jason so hard he’s sure he’ll be bruised. Balls slap against his ass obscenely loud. “Batman and his bitch are tanking our bottom line, pumpkin. It’s critical to get the little shits off the table.”

Roman’s rhythm stutters. He grunts, tightens his grip on both Jason’s throat and his hip, causing Jason to thrash around, desperate for air. It’s the push the older man needs to send him over the edge.

Roman comes inside him with a satisfied sigh. Then watches Jason with cool detachment as he struggles to get out from under his strangling hold, which tightens incrementally before finally letting up.

Gasping for air, Jason collapses back into the black satin sheets. He feels Roman saunter out of bed as though he didn’t just fuck someone to within an inch of their life. Guess he’s getting himself off in the the shower then.

He hears the quiet jingle of metal on metal an instant before the keys to the cuffs land on his overheated chest. Followed by the heavier thud of a silicone plug.

He internally rolls his eyes. He really should have known.

“Get cleaned up. I have a couple errands for you before then.”

When he finally catches his breath and shifts to his knees, letting both objects drop so that he can reach them with his hands bound, a gloved hand to his chest makes him freeze.

Hooked around a finger of Roman’s other hand is a triple-looped cock ring.

The whine that passes Jason’s lips is every bit as pleading as it sounds. But the bastard just grins and leans in, fastening the metal (because Roman likes that it pinches Jason’s skin in the henges when he moves) tightly around the stem of his achingly hard cock, the root of his balls, and beyond them both where they attach to the rest of his body. He flicks Jason’s sack hard, pulling a final gasp of pain from him.

Then Roman runs a hand through Jason’s sweat damp hair in the closest thing to affection the man is capable of.

“Pout all you want, sweetheart. You know I like knowing you’re filled up and desperate for me when we meet people.”

It’s ridiculous and possessive in an embarrassing, kind of disturbing, way. But it makes Jason shiver.  
  


* * *

  
The errands are small, housekeeping type work.

He checks on one of the weapons shipments, roughs up a dealer who’s drawing too much attention to himself, and a couple other minor things.

Last on his list is, what he assumes, a special run for the meeting with the newest assassin willing to take a crack at the bat.

Apparently, their guest likes a very specific, very rare, very expensive whisky. It’s only sold in like four places in the United States. One happens to be a swanky, pretentious liquor store situated exactly halfway between Janus Industries and Wayne Enterprises.

The owner obviously knew what the fuck he was doing. It’s a opportunistic business acumen that Jason whole-heartedly appreciates. Even if he thinks dropping several grand on a small bottle of booze is absurd.

He scowls at the stupid thing, shoving the receipt into his pocket, thinking the elaborate glass and leather bottle lying atop a bed of silk in a polished oak box likely costs as much as the actual liquid inside.

Doesn’t mater how many years he spends in Roman’s lap of luxury, deep down he’ll still be the street rat impressed with a fast food burger.

“Fancy meeting you here, little one,” a honey-smooth voice purrs directly into his ear. It’s warm and familiar and Jason practically melts just at the sound of it.

Maybe he would have if it didn’t come from so close it startles the hell out of him and makes him jump.

Jason spins around coming face to face with smiling, deep blue eyes. The man before him is every bit as tall and lean and beautiful as the last time Jason saw him three years ago.

“Surprise,” Renegade says cheerfully. His teeth sparkle white behind a wide grin.

Jason briefly struggles with the urge to punch him before deciding the dimples are too endearing. Then he kind of wants to kiss him but… you never know who’s working for whom in Gotham. For all Jason knows, the clerk could be a False Facer in his spare time.

Finally, Jason manages to find his tongue.

“What are _you _doing here?” he hisses.

The assassin’s happy eyes dance down to the booze in Jason’s hands before he looks back into Jason’s eyes and one of those gloriously genuine smiles splits his face again.

“Looks like _exactly_ the same thing you’re doing. What a coinkydink.”

He crowds too close, pinning Jason between the counter and the overwhelming heat of his stupidly sexy body.

Sometimes, on the rare occasion Roman leaves him alone, when he’s in his room with just his memories, he likes to fantasize that he hadn’t spent so much of his youth undernourished and scrounging for food. Likes to think that, maybe if Roman had found him sooner or maybe Deathstroke found him first and he got to grow up the way he should have. Likes to think he’d be bigger and broader than Renegade. After all, he’s not much shorter than him as it is and the image of those big blue eyes looking up at him for once is heady.

But he’d be a big fat liar if he tried to claim he didn’t like the way the mercenary could make him feel so small and young and… innocent.

He can feel the heat rising in his cheeks. He has to get out of here before someone sees.

“It’s not a coincidence if you’re our dinner date,” Jason grumbles, shouldering past Renegade to make his way toward the exit.

Roman should have told him. And the fact that he didn’t sends Jason’s brain into overdrive, trying to determine the crime lord’s motivations. He can’t know about his… intimate time with the younger mercenary… can he? Even Deathstroke doesn’t know… or, at least Jason thinks Deathstroke doesn’t know. Not the extent of it anyway. He would have been a lot angrier if he’d known… wouldn’t he? He must be at least as jealous and possessive as Roman…

Renegade just chuckles and says, “See you later for our date, little one,” with a wink. Jason cringes as the door swings shut behind him, regretting his word choice.

Ignoring the driver and his frankly really uncomfortable looking black latex mask, Jason flops into the back seat of the waiting car wincing as the plug he’d forgotten about jams up into him.

He scowls at the driver’s mean smirk in the rear view mirror and flips the man off.

Then he looks out the window in time to see Renegade leave the store, an annoyingly happy bounce to his step.

Jason huffs and turns away. He only has a few hours to pull his shit together and figure out how to be around that asshole without Roman catching on.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s going to be a long fucking night, Jason decides when Renegade’s hug lingers just a little too long; when, within seconds of sitting at the decadently set table, the assassin starts rubbing his foot up and down Jason’s leg under the cover of the table cloth, occasionally tapping his toes against his crotch.

Jason tries to casually ignore the touches, but he has a creeping suspicion that his refusal to look at the younger mercenary is noted. Roman’s face may be covered by that mask and not the most... expressive even when revealed but Jason has learned to read the man’s body language as easily as a book. Not only does it make him great at his job (Jason’s ability to anticipate Roman’s moods and needs helped him climb the False Facer’s ranks in record time), but it was also necessary for his survival growing up in Roman’s ‘care’.

Fortunately, the business talk goes pretty smoothly. Roman and Deathstroke—Slade, apparently, because of course Roman knows and just never saw fit to share—aren’t exactly best friends but they apparently have a professional respect for each other.

Things don’t really take a turn until Deathstroke says it won’t be a problem, he’ll off the Bat while Renegade handles Robin.

“Maybe Jason could come too,” the idiot suggests with a wink, ignoring the glare Jason throws him, “For old time’s sake. Make sure he’s not getting rusty.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jason sees Slade’s lip twitch up in a minute smirk while Roman slowly squares his body toward them and straightens in his seat, folding his gloved hands together in front of him.

“I’m not rusty,” he snaps, with more venom than he needs, hoping they just think he’s offended, “The point of hiring you to do it is to keep us out of it, _dick_.”

It’s a risk. Renegade had made him promise never to use his name unless it was an absolute emergency. Jason had joked that it’d be easy because he could joke about Dick being a dick. So, he tries it now, Dick doesn’t know Roman. Doesn’t know how dangerous it is to tease him right in front of the man, like he’s rubbing the crime lord’s face in their indiscretion. Jason doesn’t think Roman can hurt Dick—doesn’t think Deathstroke would allow it—but he’d just as soon keep all his own skin on his body. And this is the only thing he can think of to tell the other man to back off.

Other than an almost imperceptible pause in his breathing, Dick doesn’t show any indication that Jason’s comment could have been anything other than a crude insult and he takes the hint.

But it’s crystal clear by the way Deathstroke stiffens, that he knows the truth.

“You’re hardly a master and there’s still a lot you can learn,” Dick says with an unconcerned shrug, rolling with Jason’s warning as best he can. “But whatever you want, little one."

It could be innocent. It could be a patronizing little jab considering Jason is obviously not as skilled as Renegade, never was and never will be. It could very easily mean nothing.

But Jason can’t help the way he stiffens at the endearment. Sees that Dick doesn’t fair much better, flinching the moment he says it.

God. Jason had known he was playing with fire the first time he let Dick touch him. His rationalization back then—that Roman and Renegade would probably never meet—seems almost comically flimsy now.

Gulping, Jason tries not to glance at Dick as he looks to see how the two older men have reacted.

Slade has leaned back in his chair and is staring at his apprentice with a cruel, hungry smile, dangerous enough to rival the flame of deadly desire that often comes into Roman’s eyes.

Roman hasn’t really moved much. His head is cocked to one side as though he’s considering… one of them? Both? All three? Jason can’t tell who he’s looking with that stupid fucking mask.

After way too long a moment, just when Jason is getting ready to speak—despite knowing that’s not the smartest step to take—just to break the unbearably tense silence, Roman leans back a bit and rests his hands on the arms of his chair.

“Well. It would appear you had more fun during your schooling than you let on, _son_.” His voice is arctic. Dangerous, deadly ice.

Jason flinches. He knows that tone.

This is going to be bad.

“And it would seem Mr. Wilson is also displeased with his young protégé, though perhaps not for the same reason,” Roman continues, turning his attention back to Deathstroke.

They look at each other for a long, tense moment. Seem to have an entire conversation somehow, without being able to make eye contact, without twitching a muscle. Until Slade gives a slight nod and looks back to Jason and Dick with a grin so vicious and mischievous Jason is positive Roman would be wearing a matching one if he could.

You know. If Roman _had_ lips.

When the older man abruptly stands and starts to make his way across the apartment, Jason immediately follows. It’ll go better for him if he does what’s expected, what he’s told. This is not the time to be stubborn or bratty.

He’s effectively cheated on Roman. Even if nothing has ever explicitly been stated, even if Roman sees plenty of other people, Jason has always known exactly what Roman wants and expects from him. He’s always known that Roman considers him _his_.

Chairs scrape across the wood floor behind him as their guests move to join. Jason shivers and squeezes his eyes closed for a moment. He doesn’t care about Deathstroke but he’d prefer Dick not see him like that, the way Roman likes to break him down when they’re in that place.

He damn near runs up Roman’s back. Opens his eyes with barely enough time to stop from slamming into the older man.

They’ve stopped well short of the elevator and Jason can’t help but blink in confusion when Roman ushers him into the living room’s sitting area. This is… definitely not where he expected to go, but he covertly lets out a huge sigh of relief. Even as he tries to reevaluate the situation.

He expected to be taken to Roman’s dungeon that he affectionately and disturbingly calls a playroom. It’s surprising and more than a little disconcerting to be directed into a much… less menacing room. None of Roman’s tools are here… there’s only so much his mentor can do to him here.

Must be on his best behavior in front of company. Wouldn’t want the guys who kill people for money to get so freaked out they change their mind about offing the bat and bird.

Jason gulps as he walks past Roman’s outstretched arm, chivalrously ushering him into the area between the couch and the coffee table ahead of him. Roman follows and sits on the sofa in front him, left arm thrown casually across the back of the sofa, right ankle resting atop the opposite knee. Slade takes the seat on the other end, legs spread wide and welcoming, arms folded across his broad chest.

Dick joins Jason in the aisle between the two pieces of furniture. He doesn’t look even remotely as nervous as Jason feels.

Scenarios have been playing out in Jason’s head since they started the trek from the dinning room. And not a single one of them is something he particularly wants Dick to see. He likes the assassin—definitely way more than he should—and what he does with Roman... how he is with Roman… it’s pathetic and he doesn’t want Dick to see that side of him.

Renegade is… lethal. He’s deadly and dangerous and so fucking out of his league it hurts Jason’s brain. But somehow, despite that, he still can’t help but—

“Strip.”

Flinching as he’s wrenched out of the downward spiral of his own thoughts, Jason still manages to turn a heatless glare at Roman.

The expressionless mask is cocked to one side, casual and unhurried, watching him. He shouldn’t glance to his right, but he can’t help it.

Deathstroke and Renegade are also watching him, the latter with delight in his eyes and a distinctly pleased curl of his lips. Jason swallows hard. He’s not… he doesn’t think he wants an audience. He’s never thought about it before, everything with Roman and Dick had always been private. Though, Roman had occasionally threatened him with… _others_… as punishment. But Jason is not an exhibitionist, the idea of being watched… it’s always brought him quickly to heel.

An impeccably shined, stupidly expensive leather shoe taps against his thigh, pulling his attention back to Roman.

“You know I don’t like to repeat myself.”

In other words, _Do what I fucking say or we’ll head downstairs and show your boytoy **exactly** who you really are._

Reading the real meanings of Roman’s comments in company is a necessary life skill he learned quickly.

Heat rushes through him as he slowly unbuttons his suit jacket and shrugs it off his shoulders. Three sets of eyes—or rather two _sets_ and a lone eye—set fire to his skin where their gazes land.

A gruff “You too” comes from Slade and Dick as the nerve to fake surprise with wide eyes and an exaggerated gasp.

Then he grins, winks at Jason who scowls back, and begins to undress.

“Yours is a bit… dramatic,” Roman hums at Wilson, watching the show the younger assassin puts on, peeling out of his clothing with a grace and confidence that Jason envies. He suspects Dick doesn’t share his aversion to being watched as the other man is standing completely naked and completely unashamed before Jason even manages to start on the buttons of his shirt.

“But at least he doesn’t act like a blushing virgin,” Roman continues, pointedly turning his attention back to Jason, “A refreshing change of pace.”

Gritting his teeth behind a frown, Jason kicks off his shoes and uses his toes to pull off his socks while he unbuttons his pants, trying not to be insulted and really trying not to let the comment prod at his insecurities the way he knows Roman likes.

His fingers are trembling a little, which he knows just looks like it’s making Roman’s point, but it’s not because of that. It’s because he has no experience to pull from. This is all new territory, he has no idea what Roman is planning, and that’s fucking dangerous.

“Hmmm,” Wilson rumbles from his corner, “Blushing virgin _is_ a change of pace for me. Renegade has never been _shy_. It’s… cute.”

The sound of blood rushing in his ears is loud and Jason tries to control his body’s responses; tries to keep himself from turning an even more embarrassing shade of red at the words, at the drop of his slacks to pool around his ankles.

Which he fails spectacularly. His boxer briefs are definitely going to be the last thing he removes, so he reaches up to his throat only to be stopped by Roman.

“Leave the tie, sweetheart.”

Jason knows he turns pink. Vivid, bright, pink. Because Deathstroke huffs a little laugh through his nose and Dick mutters a barely audible ‘_jesus’_.

It probably seems unprompted to them, an overreaction to something that shouldn’t be _that _embarrassing, all things considered.

But they don’t have all the information. They don’t know about the little ‘R.S.’ stitched on the inward facing side of all his ties. In bold raised lettering, mirrored, so that when Roman brings him home from some event, he can pull the fabric tight around Jason’s throat while they fuck, and the initials will end up indented on his skin.

The rest of his clothes come off on autopilot. He doesn’t know _why_ because he’s never really cared before, but he really doesn’t want Dick to see Roman’s mark of ownership on his flesh.

Which is really stupid, he tells himself, because Roman’s marks are all over him. It’s not like what they get up to in the basement doesn’t leave scars. And it’s not like Dick hasn’t seen those before.

It’s different though. The scars could be from anything. But the letters are deliberate and—

Jason looks up at the unreadable mask as he realizes that’s the point. Or Roman’s point anyway. Wilson is probably making a different one. Roman _wants_ Dick to see.

Black Mask is marking his territory.

There’s a small sense of relief now that he kind of knows what to expect. Even as he becomes uncomfortably aware of the plug still inside him, the metal rings around his junk.

He doesn’t think Dick can see them, definitely not the plug anyway, but Deathstroke can definitely the cock rings.

They stand there for a long minute while they’re mentors just look at them. Dick has his hands on his hips and is starting to fidget with barely contained excitement. He keeps glancing Jason’s way and looking him over which makes Jason’s heart flutter.

But he keeps his own hands clutched in front of him, trying to subtly cover himself; keeps his own eyes on Roman.

Deathstroke is probably ready for anything Roman can throw his way. Or Renegade’s. But Dick is now naked and exposed and Jason won’t risk anything happening. Jason knows there’s a gun wedged between the cushion and the armrest, just below where Roman is meaningfully taping his gloved fingers.

Jason knows this is a test. A chance to save himself _too _much pain after the other two have left. There’s not a doubt in Jason’s mind that if Dick were anyone other than Renegade, Roman would have shot him already.

“I assume,” Roman says at last, “that my boy, being the shy, submissive bitch that he is, wasn’t exactly the _man_ in your trysts?”

Beside him, Dick stiffens a little and Jason may not have known him well or long, but it’s enough to know that everything about the way Roman’s question was phrased bothers him.

But Deathstroke’s booming laugh distracts them both.

“It was certainly an eye-opener,” Wilson chuckles, “I didn’t know my confident, pushy bitch was interested in a change like that.”

Dick scowls at him and opens his mouth to respond but stops himself when his boss’s eyebrow goes up and his posture squares toward him.

“Knees,” Deathstroke growls.

To Jason’s dismay, Dick glances his way. “But I th—”

“Now.”

The demand leaves no room for argument and the younger mercenary sinks to kneel between his mentor’s legs with more of that easy grace.

“You too, pumpkin,” Roman purrs.

Jason doesn’t have that smoothness and he feels like a sack of stones in comparison when he drops to the floor.

“Well, get to it,” Wilson snaps, amusement clear in his tone.

Positive the command applies to him too, Jason leans in and pulls Roman’s zipper open with his teeth and noses around his crotch until he can fish his cock out of his stupid silk boxers with his mouth. Best to bring his A-game.

This at least is familiar. The way his lips wrap around Roman, the weight on his tongue, the shape in his throat.

A slurping sound from his right tells him Dick is safe where he’s undoubtedly been a million times before and this is fine. This is simple. If they all stay in their lanes, everything will be fine.

He should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. Jason Todd doesn’t have the best of luck.

“We should have switched,” Wilson grunts after several slow minutes, “We can get this any time.”

For a moment, all Slade gets out of Roman is a considering “mmm”.

Jason sucks on Roman harder, more eagerly, trying to intimate that the only cock he wants is Roman’s.

He doesn’t want the crime lord anywhere near Dick’s pretty, smiling face.

Gloved fingers tighten in his hair and slowly pull him off with a wet pop. He doesn’t even have to fake the blissed out, heavy-lidded, look on his face. He likes doing this for Roman—making him happy—he’s good at this. Even before Roman taught him what he liked, the older man had told Jason he was good at this.

Roman’s dick is glistening with Jason’s spit and a thick string of saliva keeps them connected.

“Jason?”

He knows what Roman wants. Doesn’t want to say it. Is _extremely_ aware of Dick finding him out of the corner of his eye while he moves lazily up and down Wilson’s thick cock.

But he wants to provoke Roman even less.

“Yes, daddy?”

Dick’s movements hitch.

“Would you like Mr. Wilson to fuck your face for you?”

It’s not a question, not a real one. Roman expects a certain answer and any other will mean bad things. He doesn’t know what Deathstroke will allow to be done to Dick.

So he keeps his eyes cast down on the floor, demure and servile. Keeps his voice soft and agreeable when he speaks.

“Yes please.”

“And you want me to make your friend feel as good as I make you feel right?”

Jason hesitates. He doesn’t like the way Roman phrased that one little bit.

But again, there is only one acceptable answer. Jason is going to have to trust Wilson to keep Roman from doing anything too out of line.

“Yes daddy.”

“Such a good boy,” Roman purrs down at him, patting the side of his face hard enough to qualify as a slap.

It takes some maneuvering around the tight space, for Jason and Dick to swap places. Jason moves slightly quicker than he should have to make sure that he could scoot along behind Dick. He’s sure Roman wants Dick to see the plug, but Jason isn’t ready yet.

Deathstroke’s cock is not simple or familiar. Even if Roman’s is _maybe_ a little longer, Wilson’s is quite a bit thicker. Jason is still trying to work out how he’s going to fit it in his mouth when the mercenary growls with impatience and shoves his face down.

Apparently he’s just going to take it.

It stretches his lips wide and fills every available space. There’s not much room to move his tongue around or even really work his cheeks and teeth the way he’s used to.

In a way it’s easier. When Deathstroke twists his fingers in Jason’s hair and starts to fuck into his mouth there’s not much for Jason to do. Doesn’t stop him from trying; from rolling his tongue along the shaft, flicking it across the slit at the the end, every time Wilson roughly pulls him off. But when he’s pushed back down all he can do is choke.

He hears Dick’s wet noises next to him and tries not to look. He fails.

Unlike Slade who is controlling pretty much everything with his hands on Jason’s head, Roman is combing his fingers through Dick’s hair, muttering what he’s sure must be absolutely filthy words of encouragement. But Jason can’t hear it over his own sounds and Deathstroke’s lowly rumbled, “that’s it, kid, take it all; fuck”.

The younger mercenary is going at his own pace, dragging his tongue up the underside of Roman’s cock just to suck on the head like he’s trying to pull the come right out, like Roman’s dick is a straw.

Wilson comes suddenly and without so much as a grunt of warning while Jason is distracted and he inhales some in his surprise. He tries to swallow the rest down (there’s… _so much_) since that seems to be what the merc wants as he’s holding Jason’s head tight between his legs. But since he’s choking he coughs some past the thick cock in his throat and it dribbles down his chin.

When he’s finally released, Jason falls back onto his haunches, still coughing and trying to catch his breath. Tears sting his eyes before sliding down his cheeks.

The big hand still in his hair tilts his head back so that he can watch Wilson swipe a thumb through the come on Jason’s chin and push the digit into his mouth.

“Your‘s is pretty when he cries,” Deathstroke hums, watching Jason suck his thumb with delight.

Roman makes a too soft sound. More than just arousal though it’s slightly breathless indicating that he definitely is. It’s almost sounds… affectionate. But Jason knows better than that.

“You have no idea.”

Pride blooms hot and rapid, spreading from his chest to the tips of his toes. It’s dumb, considering the things Roman does to make him cry and scream. But it’s his.

Dick’s worried glance is the only things that stops him from sinking further into that blissful place where he’ll happily do… whatever.

“Go pour us a couple drinks while I finish up,” Roman murmurs without turning his face away from Dick’s fluid movements in his lap.

Jason knows he’s not speaking to the mercenary.

“Yes daddy.”

At the bar, he chews on a piece of ice to try to cool himself off while he pours two overpriced whiskey neats. He’s not under any illusions that he or Dick get any.

There has to be a way to end this here. To tell Roman that he’s learned his lesson but if he wants to keep teaching it they can go downstairs. Alone.

He gets back just as Dick is wiping the corners of his mouth, scowling up at Roman with a venom Jason hasn’t seen before. Wilson is watching them both very closely.

Must’ve missed something interesting.

The two older men take a couple sip of their drinks. Roman has tucked himself away already but Slade seems unconcerned.

Dick is purposefully avoiding looking at Jason. So Jason stands awkwardly at his side, counting all the individual fibers he can find in the area rug beneath his feet.

“Now that that’s taken care of we can get back to the main event,” Roman says, watching them intently. “Why don’t you crawl up onto the coffee table for me, sweetheart.”

Below him, Dick tenses. Jason is definitely worried about what he missed.

He also really doesn’t like being put on display in the middle of the room like that either.

“Of course, daddy,” he says anyway, swallowing hard and turning to obey.

This is as good as he’s ever been. Minimal hesitation, zero argument or sass. He’s positive Roman is receiving his message. He’s also pretty positive the older man is ignoring it.

A shiver wracks through his body as he shifts into position. All fours, on the block of solid wood that Roman has, on occasion, left him strapped to for hours.

So he’s not worried about it holding up to whatever is about to happen.

He spares a glance to Wilson to find his expression is more curious than concerned. Then he swallows hard, hangs his head between his arms, and lets his eyes fall closed.

“Now, Renegade, right? I got the distinct impression that you enjoy fucking my boy. That you might _miss_ him.”

The tone is light but mocking and alarms are going off in Jason’s head. But it doesn’t keep him from blushing again as they speak about him like he can’t hear them.

“Well go ahead then,” Roman hums, “Show us what you’ve got.”

There’s the sound of shuffling behind him, something mumbled too low under Dick’s breath to hear, then, “Lube?”

Roman chuckles low and wicked. “I think you’ll find you don’t need any.”

The fingers that lightly touch his hip are cool compared to Jason’s overheated skin and lightly calloused. He’s always touched Jason like he was something precious. Not fragile—Dick isn’t always gentle, exactly—but… careful. Considerate.

The fingers slide across to the dip in his lower back. Then there’s a sudden sharp intake of breath before a low, cut off growl.

Jason feels another flush of heat at the noise. Dick’s reaction at finding the plug, seeing the gaudy golden R.S. engraved on the black base, is _jealousy_.

He can’t help the whimper when it jostles inside him as Dick grabs hold to remove it.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Roman sings, breaking the spell, before commanding, “Leave it.”

“I can’t—“

“You can move around if you need to. Push it deeper into him, pull it nearly all the way out. As long as it stays. There.”

Muttering a curse under his breath, Dick resets.

Jason whines at the loss as the the plug slides out until just the narrowest inch remains. Then a finger hooks inside him and tugs down on his rim. He feels a bit of Roman’s come drip down his taint.

He groans as the same moment Dick murmurs _fuck_.

And then suddenly Dick is pressing into him. It feels _so fast_ that it sends Jason’s head spinning. And when he’s fully seated he starts pushing the plug back in.

The stretch is—_christ—_the stretch is exquisite. Dick’s movements are deliberate and smooth. Perfect, just like everything else about him. And he’s not messing around. It’s like he shares Jason’s desire to get this performance over with, but also that he shares the _desire._

It makes Jason feel warm and safe. Even under the circumstances.

He’s never felt that with Roman. Not once. Not even when Roman first picked him up as a kid. He’s felt useful, wanted even. But never really _safe_. And Roman’s certainly never warmed his heart.

He can’t help wondering what Dick is feeling. If it’s the same. Or if Jason’s just more desperate for real affection. Maybe what Dick has with Slade is different than what Jason has with Roman. He’d honestly never considered that before.

_Something _hits his prostate and he cries out in pleasure.

“_Oh my god_…” he pants, feeling the tears of bliss rolling down his cheeks, bucking his hips back to meet Dick’s measured thrusts, “Fuck… Di-_Renegade_… _please_…”

“Jason.”

Roman’s voice cuts through the haze like a knife. Even Dick’s pace stutters.

It’s good though. Jason needed it. He’s drowning in pleasure and almost used Dick’s real name. Roman shouldn’t know it. Can’t know. Can _never_ know it.

“Y-yes… dad-daddy?”

The grip on his hips tightens at the words. Possessive.

Jason shudders.

“Look at _me_.”

It takes everything he has to pry his eyes open and turn his head towards Roman.

“That’s it, baby. Keep your eyes on _me_,” Roman orders, tone bordering on a snarl. “And you, _Renegade_, use the tie. I’m sure you know _my _boy likes to be choked.”

Dick doesn’t know that. Jason didn’t want him to know that. Didn’t want the assassin to think he was a freak. Didn’t want the rejection.

There’s a brief hesitation. Then Dick’s arm wrap around his chest and lips brush against his ear. One of Dick’s hands plays with the tie.

“Little one?”

Even Jason barely hears it, the ask. He wonders what Dick would do if he said no, if he said he didn’t want it. Would he stop? Would he fight Roman off?

But he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want Roman to get hurt and he _really_ doesn’t want Dick to get hurt.

And he _does_ want Dick to choke him.

So he gives the smallest, least noticeable nod he can considering he is also still trying to look at Roman and that Dick hasn’t stopped fucking into him, and the plug is pressed right up against him.

Dick keeps one arm wrapped around him while the other twists the tie so that the tails are at Jason’s back.

Then he pulls.

And keeps pulling.

Jason moves back with it, following on instinct to relieve the pressure, even when he knows it won’t help.

So now Dick’s chest is layered against his back, the hand at his chest plays with his nipples, flicking and tugging, until Jason is even more of a writhing mess. Every point where they touch is fire and ecstasy.

Drool runs out of the corner of his mouth. He’s trying breath but he can’t get any air. Tries to gasp at the overwhelming sensation as Dick ratchets up his speed, pounding into him hard and fast, chasing his end.

He wants to come so badly. He’s been there for an eternity.

“_Please…_”

His vision is blurring, Roman’s inscrutable mask swims in front of him, Dick holds him tight.

Dick’s lips are back, mouthing at the skin just below his ear, on the far side, so Roman can’t see. The hand at his chest has crept lower, now slowly stroking Jason’s cock, slipping further down on every other stroke to squeeze or tug at his balls.

Jason feels like he’s coming unraveled; fraying at the edges. He thinks he sees Roman’s hand in his pants but he can’t be sure. Everything is too fuzzy. He’s completely lost track of Deathstroke.

“I’ve missed this, little one,” Dick coos into the sensitive skin by his ear, “Missed _you_. The feel of you fluttering around me, tightening to keep me inside you. Missed holding you in my arms. Missed your heat.”

He feels an uncomfortable pinch at his groin. Then he screams—or tries to—as Dick snaps the cock rings off him. He’d almost forgot about them. Sometimes Roman doesn’t remove them until well after they’re done. He’s learned to not expect relief.

The sound comes out broken and airless.

Two strokes of Dick’s hand against his desperately leaking cock has him coming with another, even weaker shout. Dick works him through it, making sure plug is massaging against his prostate while his hand keeps up the motions, milking out every last drop of pleasure.

Then, abruptly Jason can breath again. The tie is released, the grip on his hips tightens again, and Jason scratches at the tie until it’s loose enough to rip off and throw aside.

Before the tie even hits the floor, Dick is pushing his torso forward until his face and chest are back on the table. Holds him down with a hand on the back of his neck and fucks him like a starving man devouring a banquet.

Dick comes with a groan, folding forward to, again, layer himself over Jason. He stays inside him, cock twitching, waiting out every last drop. Jason feels like it’s a ‘fuck you’ to Roman. More of Dick inside him now than what’s left from his earlier round.

Eventually, after a couple minutes to catch their breath, to come back down to earth, Dick makes a sound of discomfort and slowly, gently, eases himself out of Jason’s battered hole.

Jason’s eyes have drifted closed. He’s exhausted. Feels amazing and grimy at the same time. He can feel the sweat cooling on his back and face and he sighs. Barely notices when Dick fiddles with the plug, making sure it’s back in place.

“Well you certainly are a singular host, Black Mask,” Deathstroke’s voice booms through the post-orgasm high, “Excellent dinner and the best show in town.”

Jason cringes and he can feel Dick go still above him.

Roman studies them for a moment. Then turns to Wilson.

“Perhaps an encore is in order. We do have a decent bottle of whiskey to finish, after all.”

Slade freezes. His single sharp, grey eye rakes over the two tired bodies on the table.

Then he grins.

“Hope you kids saved a little energy.”

  
  


* * *

In the morning, Black Mask and Deathstroke disappear into Roman’s office.

Jason knows it’s a test. Roman is exactly paranoid enough to have cameras in his own home to keep an eye on him.

So he tries not to meet Dick’s eyes as the wait at the dinning table, picking at their food with no real interest.

Flashes of the night before keep dancing in front of Jason’s vision. The sweet words of comfort Dick whispered to him, the filthy words of adoration.

It had almost been easy to forget they were being watched and maneuvered. Harder when their mentors had decided to join in.

But there were moments when it was just them, when the rest the world melted away and the only thing that existed was Dick.

And those moments were nearly perfect.

They sit in silence as the minutes tick by slowly.

What is there to say?

A very small but annoyingly loud part of Jason wants to ask Dick if they can run away together. Between the two of them they could set up shop in a different city. Hell, they could probably rule over Bludhaven in less than five years.

He swallows hard, coughs as the movement rubs his raw throat, and takes a sip of water. Only to choke.

In the space between heartbeats, Dick is at his side, lightly patting his back; rubbing small circles with his thumb while Jason gets control of himself.

When he can, he looks up into dark blue eyes full of concern and… _want_.

After a moment, Dick’s gaze drops lower, to his neck.

Jason’s breathing comes quicker, heavier, as Dick raises a hand to Jason’s throat, thumbing lightly over the indentation of Roman’s initials just below Jason’s Adam’s apple.

They’re both pretty bruised up. Both of them are sore and limping. But Jason has notice that this particular piece of evidence from the night before has captured Dick’s attention.

Jason’s lips go dry and he swipes his tongue across them for moisture. They’re so close. He can feel Dick’s breath puff across his nose. Can feel the impossible heat of him all over.

He knows he’s gone pink again.

“No matter how many marks he puts on you,” Dick says so, so, _so_ softly, “Whether all the clothes you have come with his name on them; even if he carves it into you flesh… You’re only his as long as you want to be.”

They stare at each other.

Is that true? Of course it is, Jason knows, deep down. Of course. But what would it _mean_… a life without Roman? What would that even look like? Jason can’t begin to imagine.

Dick’s thumb moves up to caress gently over Jason’s lips. And jaw. And cheeks.

His next words are barely more than a whisper. But they’re life changing.

“You could be mine. If you wanted.”


End file.
